


In Her Dreams

by jest_tal



Series: Dreaming in the Fade [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Mass Effect
Genre: Dragon Age & Mass Effect Crossover, Dreaming, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jest_tal/pseuds/jest_tal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dreams come more frequently now. Darkness, failure, loss. All of the things that she can't afford to show in the light day swirl up and drag her down at night. <br/>And there's nothing she can do to fight that. <br/>And there's no one who can help her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> While this is the continuation of my series "Juxtaposed Points in Time" I'm pulling it away and into it's own series since it is such a cross-over.

In her dreams, she can never catch up.

The trees meld into the shadows around her, darkness and mist obscuring all sense of beginning or end, and the boy from the base runs, always, always just out of reach…

She can't save him.

She didn't save him.

And the voices of everyone else she didn't save echo and slowly dissolve her strength as she just….keeps….trying…

And failing.

It will all end in flames.

"You are a fierce protector, Siha but some things are out of even your control…" his voice, his ghost, trails along her ear and she shudders.

He's gone.

She knows that. Even in her deepest dreams, her most confused imaginings, she never forgets the fact that Thane is dead.

It's been burned into her. Stabbed through her like a blade, which everything else now pulls and rails and tugs against.

She will never forget.

"You should listen to him, though," like a drop of soap scattering oil, the voice that speaks so matter-of-factly cuts through the dense haze around her. She whirls, startled, to find herself no longer alone.

The young man, standing less than a couple of yards away, shifts his weight uncertainly under her fierce gaze. He is dressed in leathers (strange, leathers, too. Like a costume) and a rather ridiculous hat obscures most of his face.

"I like this hat," he says, and in the shadows she senses him blinking, "I found it on the side of the road on a man who used to raise mabaris. They loved him, even when he sold them from their mothers."

"Who are you?" Commander Shepard demands. "What are you doing here?"

Where is here?

"I'm Cole," the young man says and then he gestures, "I heard you. I was sleeping. No, wait. I don't. Not really. But I was listening for Lavellan and I heard you. You were lost, are lost, here in the woods. But it isn't real, you know."

"I'm not lost," she corrects. "I'm trying to find…"

The boy. Where is the boy? She needs to hurry. She can't fail him again.

She looks away from Cole, thoughts jerked away from his intruding presence and set back on the rails of her dreaming.

"He's not real either," Cole points out, "He's dead."

She knows this. She doesn't want to know it, but she knows. "I should have saved him."

"Sometimes you can't save them. Little boys run. They do things. They make mistakes and die and sometimes they do everything right and they die. People move and flock and flare and you try to gather them up. You try to help them when you can. And that's good. But, sometimes you are helpless. Sometimes you can't." He pauses, "It's … hard."

There's regret in his tone and it speaks to her, tugs at her. She looks back at him and catches sight of guileless blue eyes, earnest and filled with pain.

"…there's no one else," she says finally, quietly. "I have to try."

"I know."

And she believes that he does. Somehow, she believes that he understands.

That coaxes the words, the sentiments she hates herself for having, from her lips, "I….just…. I'm not sure I… care anymore," the admission makes her close her eyes, "whether I succeed or not."

"You miss him."

"Yes."

"It's a hole. A pit that you didn't have until you met him and he saw you. You have friends. But they need you, now. And you think there's no one left you can need. So you fall, and you pretend to care because you do care and it's who you are. Like her."

Her lips twitch upwards and she looks at him again, "Sounds incredibly whiny when you put it that way, kid."

A smile suddenly appears on his face, "Varric calls me that, too. Does that mean that we're friends?"

So young.

"Sure," she says, "We're friends."

"Then you aren't alone, are you?" he says simply. Then he hesitates, "Though, maybe you are like Lavellan and it's the little room at the top in the corner that's his that wants for furniture and fillings. And my hat won't fit, can't help, just like hands with three fingers won't," His own fingers tap restlessly against his thigh, "They would though. I think. They want to. You just don't realize it."

She shakes her head, "I can't ask him for that. I can't ask any of them for it. They need me to be strong."

"No. They just need you. Not strong isn't bad. Not sometimes." Cole steps forward, "They worry but don't know how to help. And friends aren't alone. " Each word is emphasized firmly, and he stops, standing right in front of her.

Then, grave and deliberate, he steps in and hugs her.

He hugs her.

The act itself is startling enough, but it's even more startling how the simple gesture shakes her, strips her hurt bare for viewing, even as it starts to sooth it.

She swallows and raises her own arms to return the embrace. Hands rest awkwardly on the young man's back and she gingerly pats.

"Not him. Not even your other self. But you called me kid and you like me, so it's okay."

Apparently hugs were not something lightly given. And she'd seemed needy enough to require one, anyway. Never one to take advantage, Shepard loosens her hold, lips quirking in slanted humor.

The young man catches his breath at the motion and then quickly squeezes harder, apparently unwilling to let her go.

"…. I miss Solas, too," he confesses wistfully.

The woods are still dark and she can still feel the prickle of distant flames on her skin. The ache of grief remains, as does the circling terror of failing...

However….

"….friends aren't alone," Shepard reminds the young man quietly.

Comfort given and received.

And when Shepard wakes up some endless time later…

…when she fastens on her armor, bracing to face a crew dancing on the precipices of despair courtesy of the daily death counts coming through the holonet….

…She remembers.


	2. Chapter 2

Lavellan was hurting.

The pain was like… wet silk, flowing from her. It twisted gently through the halls, seeped through the stone, and undulated in the air for all to see.

Or maybe just for him to see.

He couldn't tell.

He could sense the ache of loss that still plagued Liliana, like a tongue finding the hollow where a tooth should be.

He could read the guilt that Blackwell wore, hard and crusted into a mask of a different man, set in the skin.

But he could not tell whether either of the two realized how sad Lavellan was behind her smile.

Solas had to know. Cole never got anything more than the faintest impressions from the man, but the ones that radiated were of almost a similar loss.

Solas sometimes felt alone. No, always felt alone? Maybe just this moment, more?

Either way, even though she wasn't alone, the death of Lavellan's clan made her feel the same. Just like Solas. But he wasn't listening. Or rather he was, but the heat of it made him hurt, too.

So many people. Like sparks from a fire, either fanned or smothered.

Cole didn't like seeing Lavellan pulse like that. It scared him.

But, just as obvious as her pain was, it was equally obvious that she did not wish for him to involve himself in it.

He'd already tried.

He just made it worse.

Making her forget had been hard, but he'd had to. He'd made her brittle, too easily shattered, rather than stronger or better.

So, now he was standing, sitting in the shadows. Listening to the words float up to him from the people smiling, and wondering what to do next.

Dawn melted into night, and the colors, the emotions and thoughts, filtered out of the tavern one by one. Though more distant, the dreamers at Skyhold now gave deeper impressions. No longer mage-blasts of light but persistent notes that were drawn out.

It took a long time for Lavellan to sleep. And Cole could tell her dreams were not kind.

Dreams and dreaming. Kindness and cruelty. Crushing and crying. Lost and lonely…..

Perhaps…

Perhaps if he could not help, someone else could?

A twist in, then out, then through… It was harder to find her. She did not hurt as much now. Or as much then. Or even, when. Cole wasn't entirely sure if they'd met before, whether once or a hundred times. But that didn't matter. Time didn't matter. The Fade and dreaming washed it all bland and neutral and now.

But she was hard to find. She was harder.

At least, until she started screaming.

In the sky, black with pinpricks of stars. She can't breathe. She's sweating and constricted and crushed and crying and Joker is safe, they are safe, but dear God, someone save  _me_ , please please...

"It's okay," he tells her and touches. He pushes away the memory of dying and pulls her gently, carefully, some distance away into another dream. Lavellan's dream.

The Commander (for that is who she is) falls to her knees, gasping. But only for a moment. Then she's looking up, eyes sharp and slicing. Tell me, they say. Give me. Show me. No patience. Like Cullen demanding reports as Haven fell.

"Where am I?" she asks. She's noticed the trees. Noticed the soft loam cradling her knees and the mostly blue sky above. She stands, focusing on the green-white wound that shines so brightly to the north.

"Somewhere," Cole says, shrugging. He's not entirely sure where they are either, after all. "She's close though. We should find her. She's very upset. You… do want to help, right?"

"Help who?" The Commander's scrutiny is for him once more. No trust. All scoured away by His fear of who she might be now. Her own insecurities frozen and buried in granite. Words still ringing,  _"You were standing in front of me, but you were with Cerberus. I guess I really don't know who either of us is anymore."_

"Lavellan," Cole says simply. "She is aching, wounded, walking but bleeding inside. And no one else sees it. You know what that's like or you will. You do. You will more. Will you? Help?"

There is nothing but silence and suddenly, he's not sure whether she'll help him or not.

And he fears she isn't either.

"..please?" Cole steps forward, half-extending a hand. He can feel the words, the thoughts bubbling and frothing over in his mind. His. No one else's. "It hurts so much. It fills my head and I can't help her. I am supposed to help, that's who I am, that's how I know. But I can't and it's not enough and I…" His voice rises, higher like a wave about to break.

"Whoa, calm down." A hand reaches out and rests on his shoulder. Firm. Grounding. Strong.

And she is Shepard now, too. Good.

He meets her gaze, hoping.

"I'll help," she tells him, "Okay? We'll patch up your friend and go from there."

He sighs and smiles, "Yes."

Then he turns and leads a way through the forest to the fractured aravelles and broken bodies. To where Lavellan is folded in on herself, hands outstretched, cast against the ground to her family.

Shepard has her not-crossbow in her hands and she circles the wreckage, cautious, before she crouches down by Lavellan. She asks quietly, "Do you know who did this?"

Lavellan's fingers dig furrows into the earth as she straightens up. "Bandits. Just… bandits."

"Well, they can't be far then," Shepard studies Lavellan and frowns slightly. It's not quite right. The clothing, the ears. The feeling. But, those differences slip out of mind easily enough and she begins to speak. "Stay…"

But there she stops. The words are waiting. The words she'd say to any civilian.

Stay here. I'll be back. Take this. Protect yourself.

They go unspoken.

The differences are easy to ignore.

The similarities, however….

"Let's go," Shepard says finally. "Let's go find them."

Lavellan's eyes close and the wind carries with it the sound of keening. "I can't," she says, words painful to say, twisting, vile, they have to be spit out, "I can't. It would take time to find them and I have to fix the sky." She laughs, a breath that rattles, "Saving the world. Fixing the sky. Defeating Corypheus… and I wasn't here. I knew they needed help. I … trusted that Josephine… but I had missing scouts to track down and… I didn't come myself."

She covers her face with one hand, hot tears slipping between the seams between her fingers.

"You didn't know," Shepard says finally.

"Does it matter?"

"Yes and no," Shepard offers the faintest of grim smiles, "It doesn't change anything. They're gone. But it means everything that if you had known, if you had been here, you'd of tried to save them."

Lavellan shakes her head slightly. No. Negative. Not enough.

Something unyielding threads through Shepard's demeanor once more. "It does," she states. The sky is up. Rocks are hard. It does matter. Fact. Truth. Listen. Now. "It means everything. People die all the time. The only thing we can do is to make sure their deaths have meaning, either in how they change us or what we do about it. You would have saved them," a sardonic quirk to her lips, "Apparently, you'd save the world, too. I have no idea what the hell that's about. But I know the feeling. And you get to decide, here and now, whether this is going to make you stronger, or destroy you."

Lavellan looks at the Shepard, steel calling to steel. But where Shepard is contained, Lavellan is exploding. The weight is kinetic, flailing, force and fury unsettled but just as true. "You didn't know them. You don't me. Spare me your easy lectures about what losing my family, my… place…should mean to me!"

"You are right," Shepard returns without hesitation. She is not moved, facing down the flickers of mage-light crackling on the distraught elf's fingers with nothing more than a shift of weight and increased calm. "I just know me and what's gotten me through the night."

She doesn't elaborate.

She doesn't need to.

There are humans on the ground now, too. Dressed strangely, but just as dead. Just as cut down in flight and fear.

"It's been years, for me," Shepard says simply, "And, I'm not talking about now. I'm not talking about here. But when you are ready, when you have to, when they make you pick yourself up off the floor… force this to mean something. Turn it into your strength and use it. Then go save the next set of people in trouble. Because you can. You will. Because you are strong."

Lavellan swallows hard and turns away from the Commander.

And it's silence.

Except for the wind.

Slowly, the elf sits down. And while she doesn't fall into the dust as she did earlier, her eyes remain fixed on the bodies in front of her.

Cole shifts his weight uneasily. The wound still weeps. Shepard did not offer healing for it, nor a bandage. Did not take Lavellan and lead her out. Did not do what he thought she would.

But as the elf begins to hum the lullabies her mother sung to her, tears streaming again, the Commander stands.

Assault rifle in hand. Alert. Attentive.

On guard.

Lavellan will find her own way out. Eventually.

And, here and now, Shepard stays to keep watch.

It is… enough.

As the dawn filters through windows to wake the Inquisitor, and shrill alarms come to steal the Commander away…

...Cole _hopes_  it is enough.


End file.
